Then playing with the blade he prick'd his hand,
`A gracious gift to give a lady, this!'
`But would it be more gracious' ask'd the girl
`Were I to give this gift of his to one
That is no lady?' `Gracious? No' said he.
`Me?--but I cared not for it. O pardon me,
I seem to be ungraciousness itself.'
`Take it' she added sweetly `tho' his gift;
For I am more ungracious ev'n than you,
I care not for it either;' and he said
`Why then I love it:' but Sir Aylmer past,
And neither loved nor liked the thing he heard.

The next day came a neighbor. Blues and reds
They talk'd of: blues were sure of it, he thought:
Then of the latest fox--where started--kill'd
In such a bottom: `Peter had the brush,
My Peter, first:' and did Sir Aylmer know
That great pock-pitten fellow had been caught?
Then made his pleasure echo, hand to hand,
And rolling as it were the substance of it
Between his palms a moment up and down--
`The birds were warm, the birds were warm upon him;
We have him now:' and had Sir Aylmer heard--
Nay, but he must--the land was ringing of it--
This blacksmith-border marriage--one they knew--
Raw from the nursery--who could trust a child?
That cursed France with her egalities!
And did Sir Aylmer (deferentially
With nearing chair and lower'd accent) think--